sticky fingers
by Jean Kirschstein
Summary: It started with a rosebush, stolen silver, and a very disgruntled hobbit. (Nori/fem!Bilbo, possible Nori/fem!Bilbo/Dori)
1. Chapter 1

**nori is one of my favorite dwarrows and sometimes i wonder how the story would be different if bilbo was a lady**

**mixed with all the gr8 adventures that nori must have had and the fact that bilbo needed burglar training, i give you something to read**

**also stemmed from the fact that if i continue this, it will just end up being little nori/fem!bilbo/dori snapshots oops i love polyamory**

* * *

It started with a rosebush, stolen silver, and a very disgruntled hobbit.

The Shire was a lovely place, really- everyone was quite kind and no one ever locked their doors at night. And it was convenient, too, practically the Blue Mountain's doormat. Whenever Nori passed through, he never left with empty pockets.

So it came as quite the surprise when, pilfering through drawers of some rather fine silverware, an ungodly shriek rang through the homely smial that he had snuck into. There, in the hallway- a hobbit woman in her nightgown, looking rather scandalized as she held a flickering candle aloft in her right hand.

By the time she could grab her (rather formidable-looking) umbrella, Nori had already scrambled out an open window and was running down the dirt path as fast as his feet could take him.

What resulted was a long, noisy chase from one end of Hobbiton to the other, a lady in a bonnet and dressing gown waving an umbrella and screaming loud enough to wake the dead as she chased a dwarf (with pockets full of forks and spoons) down the way. Rather absently, Nori noticed light filcker behind the windows of burrows they passed, even a few head peaking out from behind doors and curtains to see what all the racket was about. But no one stopped him, and by the time that he flipped himself over a fence and into a thorny bush of sweet-smelling roses, the thief had been far enough ahead that his pursuer hadn't seen which way he'd gone.

Instead of going home, though, she threw open the gate and marched right up to the round green door, passing the very bush that Nori was hiding in. He held his breath as she passed, as she pounded on the door and waited impatiently, her arms crossed and foot tapping against the cobbles. It took a moment, but light flooded the small yard and someone yawned out a drowsy, "Lobelia?"

"There was a burglar," snapped out Nori's banshee of a victim, Lobelia. "He was going through my drawers, picking at Otho's mother's finest silver!"

There was a short pause and Nori shifted, wincing as thorns dug into his skin at an even more uncomfortable angle and tore at any bits of flesh they could get at. "No, I haven't seen anyone come by this way," said the mysterious hobbit, and Lobelia gave a wordless huff of irritation (or indignation; he truly couldn't tell). There was another silent moment as her steps receded down the way, but the light didn't disappear.

Instead, there was the quiet padding of large hobbit feet getting closer, and Nori tensed almost unconsciously, running over any and all plans of escape that he could muster on such short notice in his head. The leaved above him parted and he peered up, gray eyes meeting honey-brown.

"Well," said the hobbit, giving a long-suffering sigh. "I suppose you better come inside. It wouldn't do for Hamfast to find you bled out in his favorite roses."


	2. Chapter 2

"This is very pretty," she says admiringly one night as they sit before the fire. She runs her fingers of the soft leather cover and he says nothing, merely grunts and puffs on his borrowed pipe.

"Which city did you lift this from, then?" she asks him teasingly, and he glances at her from the corner of his eye, a shark-like grin forming around the stem of his pipe. "Aldburg? Edoras?"

"Minas Tirith, if you must know," he finally tells her, rather imperiously. "It's a gift for Ori. He's 'bout to finish his apprenticeship, and I thought he could use something nice. And besides, I didn't steal it. Even Dori couldn't say no to that."

"Of course not," she replies amiably, perfectly content to listen to him grouse about brothers. She's never met them, knows nothing about them save for what little Nori tells her, but they feel almost as real as he does. They're the closest thing she has to a real family, now, even if they don't know she exists.

"I feel like you're mocking me," he tells her as he exhales a cloud of white smoke, though there is no real discontent behind the words.

She stretches up to press a kiss to his temple. "Of course not," she says, and allows herself to sink into the solid warmth that he provides.

* * *

When Bilbo wakes in the morning, her bed is cold and there is no lovingly-folded note on the pillow to accompany the aching in her chest.


	3. Chapter 3

Even though nothing of import ever truly happens within the Shire, Nori finds that he does not like to leave Bilbo without a way to defend herself.

So, when he returns, he comes bearing a knife that is roughly as long as his forearm. It's a beautiful piece of work, really; the handle is ivory and inlaid with silver, the blade folded steel and engraved with swirling, wandering curves. It is the finest of Easterling craftsmanship.

Bilbo wants nothing to do with it.

"I'm _fine_," she insists for possibly the twelfth time. There is already a knife in her hands, and though it is not as sharp as he may of liked (and the fact that she's using it to slice vegetables), he takes some small comfort in it. She continues, "The worst thing that ever happened to me is falling out of a tree. And that's no one's fault but my own."

"But it won't _hurt_," he hedges.

She ignores him for the rest of the day, and if her chopping is more aggressive than necessary- well, that's no one's business but her own.

* * *

Nori pesters her for three days- cajoles and barters and pleads- and, finally, she cracks.

"Widen your stance," he tells her, nudging her feet apart with his toe. It's rather distracting, really- his hands on her hips, her back to his chest- and it's fair to say that Bilbo is not paying as much attention as she could have.

Regardless, she keeps her feet wide, and when he takes up his own knife across the yard from her, she strikes.

Unfortunately, Bilbo is not as coordinated as she had thought. The handle slips in her sweaty grasp and she fumbles, scrabbling to regain her hold before the blade falls completely. A quick, sharp pain makes her yelp and Nori is at her side in an instant, his expression alarmed as he snatches her wrist for further inspection.

The is a long cut across her palm, not very deep, but quite painful. She stares in a sort of transfixed horror as blood wells up along the split skin, trickling down the curve of her hand to paint the grass. "Come, now," Nori says briskly, nudging her with an elbow towards the door. The knife lays forgotten.

Needless to say, he gave up trying to teach her.


	4. Chapter 4

Though Bilbo can now laugh fondly over what she has dubbed The Invasion, it was not always so.

In fact, for a long while it was a rather touchy subject. Uninvited guests are all hunky-dory, but uninvited guests that you've never met in your life? Well, let's just say that inviting strangers into your home is the height of impropriety, not to mention barging into someone else's home.

The entire thing had nearly set her into frustrated tears, her nerves frayed as dwarrows tossed her mother's best china to and fro without a care in the world. Her head pounded, her eyes stung, and, oh-! She just couldn't take it.

She took small comfort in the fact that Nori was shuffling around somewhere, though it had become obvious that he was trying to avoid her. He was- different. Unreachable. Guarded, like the first time that she had taken him into her home. He hovered around two other dwarves- one with his beard and hair done up in intricate, fascinating braids and the other looking little more than a child- whom Bilbo assumed to be his brothers, and he spoke little.

And when Bofur takes it upon himself to describe the small joys of facing a dragon, well, that's just when all the excitement of the evening gets to her.

"Incineration?" Bilbo manages incredulously, her tightly-clenched fingers crinkling the parchment. She's sure her voice is _at least_ an octave higher than usual.

Bofur humms cheerfully. "Aye," he confirms. "Think furnace, with wings!"

Bilbo opens her mouth but no sound comes out, and it feels like something has been shoved down her throat. She's very cold, all of a sudden.

"Ye alright, lass?"

"Nope," she croaks finally, and the world tilts before everything goes black.


	5. Chapter 5

**pls leave feedback i'd like to know how i'm doing thanks**

* * *

On the first few nights on the road, Bilbo slept away from the others. She had picked up a blanket or two and a handkerchief in Bree, but still it wasn't enough. The hobbit had resigned herself to shivering away to cool spring nights all on her lonesome, while her companions curled with their families around the fire.

And it wasn't as if the days were much better, either; Thorin had pronounced his dislike and disdain for her, and that rather put off some of the dwarves that might have spoken to her. Fili and Kili glanced at her curiously over their shoulders, sometimes, and occasionally Ori would squeak out a timid "Good morning!" before skittering off to Dori, who watched her with suspicious eyes, and Nori, who was always preoccupied with something else. Bofur was the only one who truly spoke to her (sometimes joined in his bawdy tales by Bifur and Bombur, though not often) and even his good cheer was wearing on her.

And then it starter raining.

Bilbo had her coat pulled up awkwardly over her head, but it didn't do her much good. She was soaked to the bone, sodden skirts tangled about her legs, and, oh, thank the Valar that she didn't have to _walk _in this mess, there was nothing worse than getting mud stuck between your toes, truly.

But, regardless, she was still cold and sopping. The not-really-burglar huddled as far down in the saddle as she dared, hoping to absorb some of her pony's heat, her eyes closed and forehead resting against the beast's furred neck. She was exhausted barely eight days out, and they hadn't even _done_ anything yet!

A heavy warmth settling about her shoulders startled Bilbo from her thoughts and she nearly fell from the saddle, finding her fingers clenched in a familiar, road-worn cloak. Surreptitiously, she glanced up, only to find Nori riding alongside her as if he had not a care in the world. His meticulously-styled hair was disheveled and his clothes were growing damper by the second, but there was an easy smile on his face that lightened Bilbo's spirits.

"Thank you," she dared.

He didn't say anything, but he grinned and reached over to cuff her ear affectionately, just like he used to when it was just the two of them at Bag End.


	6. Chapter 6

**taking liberties with the timeline holla**

**i have never written dori ever and since i love him so much i am actually terrified of botching his character**

* * *

As they're bedding down for the night, Bilbo grabs her needle and a skirt that sorely needs some stitching, and settles herself next to Dori.

It's not as if she particularly _wanted _to do this- at least, not now- because she still feels rather disgusting even after the troll boogies have been washed away, and her side aches horribly (it's covered in a patchwork of mottled dark purple, blue, and green bruises), and really what she wants most is a nice, hot, filling meal and a warm feather-down to sleep in. But there's not really anything that she can do about any of those things, but there is something she can do about _this._

Dori pauses for a moment as she gets herself situated, but he doesn't even glance at her and refrains from commenting, save for a temperamental huff as his needles click together and he resumes knitting. In his hands is something that's beginning to look like a new set of gloves, crafted of plain gray yarn. Bilbo does not speak, either, just hums a quiet tune under her breath as she mends the tear in her skirt and, gradually, the dwarf beside her begins to ease up.

Even after she is done she remains, watching Dori skillfully weave the yarn back and forth, back and forth, until, finally, she says, "I won't hurt him, you know," and his fingers freeze. She knows that he knows exactly what she's talking about because, as Nori has complained to her many times, Dori sees all and knows all.

He lovingly sets aside his knitting and turns to face her for the first time that night (possibly the first time _ever)_. His green eyes are sharp, piercing, and his mouth is set in a firm line. "I'd like to believe you," he tells her, and even though he is quite polite, even though they look nothing alike, he reminds her quite a bit of his younger brother the thief in that moment. Bilbo meets his gaze steadily, a gentle smile playing about her lips, and she nods resolutely.

"Then I suppose I'll just have to prove myself," she declares, and there is nothing resentful in her tone. It's something that she expected, really; for all of their differences, Nori had always regarded Dori with a sort of quiet affection, and it's natural that he would be protective of his younger brothers.

"That's... acceptable," Dori says, as if realizing how strange it was to be looking after his (full-grown, adult) brother's love life. Bilbo gives him another quiet smile and receives on in return, albeit a guarded one.

Her business concluded, she rises, needle and skirt in hand, and bids him goodnight, her mind considerably lighter.


	7. Chapter 7

**story time: telling people that they "better not get sticky fingers" during family gatherings is a favorite past time of my grandma's, so that's kind of where the title spawned from because hey, nori's a Professional Thief and bilbo is supposed to be a burglar**

**and if you don't know what sticky fingers are, it's just another name from someone who steals stuff**

* * *

When Bilbo first saw Rivendell, the awe had been tainted by adrenaline and unadulterated fear, because orcs do not take kindly to being forgotten, even if they are just the memories of orcs.

And, oh! What a sight they must have been! Thirteen dwarrows with weapons drawn and one dirty, tired hobbit, all gathered into a neat little circle. The steward that greeted them, however, seemed less enthused and more-... Not fearful, exactly, but maybe disappointed?

Bilbo wonders if that's the expression she had on the night of The Invasion.

* * *

She never thought that she would have missed _actual beds_ and _real, hot baths _this much.

It was rather unseemly, and it spoke quite a bit (at least to her) about how far removed she already was from the soft little Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, who was very-extremely-ordinary-thank-you-very-much and never did anything unexpected, save maybe buy a few extra sweet cakes on Wednesdays.

She stretched out over the massive bed like a large cat, grimy and bone-tired, but content and practically purring. She stayed like that a few minutes, drifting, offering her aching muscles some respite, before made herself roll to the floor and meander over to the washing room.

She hoped they had running water.

* * *

Running water, indeed.

Clean of dirt and dust and what-have-you, her skin scrubbed pink and damp honey-colored hair pulled up, Bilbo felt ready to face the world again. She still hurt, her legs and arms and head throbbing with every beat of her heart, but the elves had whisked away her torn skirt and blouse and left some sort of silvery tunic and leggings in their place. The garments were probably meant for a child, but they fit (if tight in a few places) and the fabric felt like cool water against her skin, so it was more than acceptable.

Her companion's table manners, however, were not.

Bilbo had no idea what she was expecting- they were certainly atrocious enough in her own home- but was not _this_. The entire table was rife with complaints about the provided fare, and the hobbit looked on with poorly concealed horror as Dwalin actually _stuck his hands into his food _and Oin made vaguely threatening gesture with his ear-trumpet. The only ones who looked in any way polite were Bifur (munching contentedly on flowers from a vase at the center of the table) and Dori (who was as prim as always, but quietly trying to pass off his food as he wheedled with Ori).

Bilbo groaned and covered her face with her hands.

* * *

As is turns out, our poor hobbit didn't even get the liberty to enjoy her soft bed.

After dinner, she was whisked away by Gandalf to join in the viewing of Thorin's father's map. It wasn't all that astonishing, really; the fact that the moon runes existed excused the fact that it had seemed so useless, at first. However, as a collector, they also increased its value, and Bilbo's fingers itched just thinking about it.

Afterwards, as she trudged to her room, utterly exhausted, a hand on her back gently guided her down a series of hallways, and she was tired enough to not even question it.

That was how she found herself in the dwarrows' pavillion, snuggled warmly into a nest of fluffy pillows and down blankets, sandwiched comfortably between Nori and Ori. It was strange, really, but it warmed her deeper than just her skin. This inclusion, this affection, chased away the cold that had settled in her on that first lonely night away from home.

Ori snuffles something in his sleep and wriggles closer, his head tucked securely under her chin, and Bilbo smothers a sleepy giggle as Nori's sharp fingers squeeze teasingly at her hip. It feels almost like family.


	8. Chapter 8

**HEY IT'S AN INTERMISSION because i needed more dori**

**wasn't the company at rivendell for like two weeks in the book**

**also you guys should go read greenkangaroo's stuff over on AO3 it's gr8**

* * *

Now that they have a break, not exactly a time to rest but no need to constantly be on edge, Dori takes time to watch their burglar.

She's rather a strange little thing, he thinks. She's naive, but not foolish; she's willing to learn. In a way, she reminds him of Ori, sweet little Ori who read and wrote and drew and lived in stories. She's soft and polite and cumbersome and completely unsuited to life on the road and he thinks that maybe some of Nori's affection is rubbing off on him.

Which, of course, brings him to a whole different issue: Nori's affection. He's never seen his younger brother gentle with anything, except maybe his knotwork. But with the halfling, he acts as if he's handling something precious, something that would break if he held to tight, and it's the tender look that he gets that throws Dori for a loop because Dori knows that Nori is not a sentimental fool.

And that's what makes Dori take a second look at the hobbit. What could make Nori so soft, he wonders. How can I protect him?

But the more he watches, the more he understands, and he thinks he feels himself drowning as well.


	9. Chapter 9

**the website font changed on my computer and i'm crying i don't like it everything is too big**

**also have some ori, too. he's a sweetie**

* * *

"Miss Bilbo!" a voice whispers in her ear. Bilbo groans and nuzzles further into her pillow, curling up tight.

"Miss Bilbo," the voice says again, and now there's hands on her shoulders, shaking her. The hobbit murmurs something unintelligible but obviously annoyed, and swats drowsily at the person who dares to disturb her sleep. "Wake up, we have to go!"

Now, that _does _get Bilbo to open her eyes, though at first everything is dark and blurry and indistinct. She can hear her dwarves moving about, muttering and grumbling to each other, the coarse rustle of cloth as they packed up what they could. A sleepy frown tugs at her mouth and she knuckles her eyes, asking around a wide yawn, "What's going on?"

Ori is sitting by her, his mittened hand still on her shoulder, his face pale and drawn and dancing with something that looked like nervous excitement. "Thorin wants us to leave," he told her, whispering conspiratorially.

"_What_? Why?"

And as she looks around wildly, she does not find Nori. He is nowhere to be seen, along with Bofur and Fili and Kili- pillaging pantries, most likely. Dori of off to the side talking with Balin, a grim set to his mouth and four bulging, neatly packed knapsacks at his feet. Thorin stands in the middle of his company's small whirlwind, quietly directing which provisions go where and who carries what. It's all rather overwhelming, particularly this early (or late).

Ori considers her question for a moment, then shrugs. "Elves, most likely," he tells her helplessly, then scrambles to his feet and trots off to his older brother's side.

Bilbo buries her face in her hands for a moment, taking a deep breath, then stands as well. As she stretches, something red and neatly folded catches her eye- her coat, the one she wore all the way from Hobbiton, along with the rest of her belongings. The burglar smiles fondly and quickly slips the garments on over her soft sleeping clothes, and she has to stamp down the flare of disappointment and relief when she finds that her skirts had been exchanged for a pair of corduroy trousers and braces.

And as soon as she is straightening out the lapels on her coat, Dori is there, shoving a heavy bag into her arms. She staggers under the sudden weight and he steadies her, though he looks rather disapproving. "Here," he says, brusquely, and then he's gone when she blinks.

As she struggles in getting the straps over her shoulders, something from the top of the load tumbles to the ground. Curiously, Bilbo dumps the knapsack to the floor to get a better look- and is immediately surprised. It was the pair of gray gloves that Dori had been working on when she first spoke with him, and something warm bloomed in her chest. Bilbo shook her head and cursed herself for getting distracted, but nonetheless slipped on the gloves and hauled the knapsack up over her shoulders. The wool was soft and warm on her hands.

Thorin's voice cut through the muffled sounds of movement, gruff and gravelly. "Move out," he rumbled, and the entire company filed obediently out the door.


	10. Chapter 10

**i ordered the two-disc special edition of the hobbit i'm not sure how to feel about that**

**also i am forgoing the scene where bilbo almost leaves purely for convenience i'm sorry i'm so lazy**

* * *

"Stone giants!"

Bilbo does not remember much after that. She remembers the cold and the wet and the disorienting feeling of the ground shifting beneath her feet. She remembers chilling, heart-wrenching terror when Dori and Nori and Ori are lifted up, up up away from her (and when she hears Thorin and Fili screaming for Kili, she knows they feel the same). She remembers the warmth of Bofur's hand through her sodden clothes as he pulles her back against the cliff face, how his mustache tickled her ear as he shouted to be heard over the wailing wind and grinding stone. "Careful there, lass!"

He does not let her go until they all stumble into a sandy cave and she is thankful for the anchor.

There's a dazed silence that allows the hobbit to catch her breath and then a desperate scramble in which all thirteen dwarrows- yes, even Thorin- find family members and search and make sure that no harm has befallen anyone. Nori pulls her into the warm circle of his arms and presses a kiss to the top of her head, and she is allowed a moment to press her ear to his chest and listen to his heartbeat (_thump thump thump thump_, steady, and if she closes her eyes Bilbo can almost imagine they're safe at home in her spacious smial) before she's tugged from him and into Ori's embrace.

The young dwarf's grip is too tight and he's shaking, but not crying, so Bilbo says nothing and holds him as he takes a few shuddering breaths against her shoulder. "I was so scared!" he tells her later, wide-eyed and animated, little scratches marring the trail of freckles that stretch across his nose and cheeks. "I thought we were going to die!"

She nods consolingly and murmurs reassurances (even though she'd been just as shaken- nearly falling to your death tends to do that to a girl) as she's shifted into another pair of arms, this time Dori, who grumbles something along the lines of "don't ever worry me like that again" though he sounds wretched with relief and Bilbo smothers a half-hysterical giggle in his coat.

Later on, as she's drifting to sleep in her nest of dwarrows, the floor opens up and she is swallowed by darkness.


	11. Chapter 11

**i've been playing mass effect again and i'm getting skyrim tomorrow haha bye suckers**

**i talk more about my stuff on ao3 so as i said there, i'll do a riddles in the dark scene and then goblin town from nori's pov**

**relatively uneventful, sorry, but we all know what happens here**

* * *

Bilbo let out a rather undignified shriek when she tumbled into the (rather rickety-looking) basket, and seeing as dwarrows made rather poor terrain, she hadn't even regained her footing before they were all tipped out of it and left sprawling across the precarious pathway.

The hobbit propped herself up on her elbows and hissed at her skinned palms and bloody knees before looking up and promptly screaming again when she saw the horde of goblins rushing towards them. They were ugly creatures, with bulbous eyes and pale, sickly looking skin. She scrambled to her feet as others did the same around her, Gloin (who was nearest) pushing her behind him and drawing his axe with a ferocious snarl that unsettled her still.

Ori caught her next, looking pale and terrified but determined, his slingshot in hand. "Stay close," he told her, with a firmness that made her heart ache. She barely had time to nod frantically and squeak out an answer before the goblins were upon them and she was being jockeyed from dwarf to dwarf, hands passing her back and back and back until a sharp elbow caught her in the stomach and knocked her to the ground. Bilbo curled up as small as she could get, hands over her head.

And then- they were gone. Bilbo glanced up to see the mob retreating, herding the rest of the company away. She allowed some of the tension to seep from her muscled and she struggled, bruised and beaten, to get to her feet.

The last thing she saw before she was dragged into the deep was Nori's frantic face, lips mouthing her name.

* * *

When she came to, it was so dark that she might as well not have even opened her eyes.

The stray goblin that clawed at her back and shoulders was nowhere to be seen and there was a horrible throbbing in her head. Frowning uncomfortably, Bilbo prodded around her head only to find her curly hair matted down by blood and a nasty cut just above her ear. The rest of her ached, as well, bruises on top of bruises where there had previously never ever been bruises before.

Reaching out, her fingers found purchase on a (wet, slimy) cave wall and Bilbo pulled her self up, shimmying her sword from its sheath. She breathed a sigh of relief that it hadn't been lost; the weapon was priceless, particularly for the faint blue glow that it gave off at the moment and the small sense of security that it afforded.

The little burglar hobbled along, her fingers scraping painfully against the rock but unwilling to lose her way. Her left ankle burned white-hot when she put weight on it, and, to top it all off, after a few yards the faint light that her sword emanated sputtered out after a few pitiful yards. Bilbo's eyes burned, but she carried on.

After what seemed like ages, the air cooled and became clammier. A teeth-grinding tune carried through the cavern, along with the sickening sound of cracking bone. Bilbo allowed herself to crumble to her knees and her hands came away wet, cold water soothing against her bloody palms. Fat, hot tears rolled down her face, cutting through the grime that undoubtedly masked the pale skin beneath.

The hobbit took a deep, shuddering breath and lifted her head, only to be met with large, pale lamplight eyes.

"What is it, precious?"

Bilbo drew her sword.


	12. Chapter 12

He watched her teeter for a few desperate seconds, her name lodged in his throat. There was a queer look on the hobbit's face, somewhere between surprise and terror, and there was a dark bruise blooming across her cheek.

There was a strange fluttering in his stomach that made him short of breath, and Nori hated it. He wished that Bilbo had never come along. Go home, he wanted to tell her, with all of the savage ferocity that he possessed. Go home and be safe.

But he couldn't do that now. She toppled over the edge of the path into the deep, fathomless dark and her name tore itself from his mouth in a scream, leaving his throat raw. He struggled for all he was worth, jabbing goblins with sharp elbows and kicking with all his might.

A hand that was not unlike a goblin's bony claw clenched itself in his coat and Nori spun, crazed, until his eyes came to rest on his brother. Little Ori, pale and terrified and so incomprehensibly calm, a sharp sadness in his wide eyes. Behind him was Dori, whose face scarcely masked the panic that shone in his eyes.

Wilting under the sorrowful, desperate look that Ori cast him, Nori willed his muscles to slacken and allowed himself to be shoved meekly forward.

Bilbo was gone- there was no use fighting it.

Instead, Nori grabbed Ori with one hand and clapped the other on Dori's shoulder, fingers curling into the worn fabric of his older brother's coat. It was a reassurance, as much for him as for his brothers, and Dori gave him the first smile he had in years, if not tired and bewildered.

It wasn't much, but Nori mustered what warm feelings he could and returned the gesture stiffly, and squeezed Ori's fingers. Ori squeezed back.

Nori took that to heart and trudged onwards, as he had always done.


	13. Chapter 13

It's dark, dark, dark and she's running at full tilt, her sword swinging from her belt and bouncing against her knee, and her feet sting with each pounding step. It's only when she slips that she knows for sure that they're covered in blood; sharp cave floors are not kind to bare feet, even the thick, leathery soles of hobbit feet.

Her heartbeat is thudding desperately in her ears, nearly drowning out Gollum's screeches, and for a split second Bilbo mourns the soft tummy that all this running will inevitably chase away. She's still a hobbit, after all, if not an unusually adventurous one.

She nearly trips when Gollum halts and an entire litany of curses rolls through her head, teetering on the tip of her tongue. It turns, that ugly, emaciated thing, with tears in its eyes, and Bilbo feels... pity. She levels the tip of her sword right under its chin and pauses, an eternity stretching between them as her arm strains and her blade shakes. Bilbo steps back, something pulling at her heart, and says "I can't."

She dashes forward, launches herself in the air, and runs for the light.


End file.
